


Oops

by Mice



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Summer Mystrade Exchange, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:23:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/pseuds/Mice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg has an accident. Mycroft tries to make it better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oops

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy h/c fic for neverimpossiblehoweverimprobable. Beta by Random-Nexus, who is always the most awesome thing in the universe.

It was unusual that Gregory would be calling at this hour of the day. He rarely took lunch this late, and Sherlock was uninvolved in any of his cases at the moment, removing any of those particular special sorts of concerns. While Mycroft was deeply involved in monitoring a _situation_ in the Balkans, he nearly always had time for Gregory, particularly if the call was unexpected; one never knew if there was a problem.

"Gregory, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?"

"Not so sure it's a pleasure." Gregory's voice was tight, as though he were in pain.

Mycroft sat a little straighter in his chair. "What's happened?"

"I'm home, don't worry."

"What has _happened_ , Gregory?" It couldn't be too bad, if Gregory were home already.

Gregory hesitated before answering, but not for terribly long. "I, em, broke my arm."

Mycroft blinked once, then recovered. "And how did this occur?" Already, Mycroft was working through a potential list of miscreants who might have hurt the man.

"Icy sidewalk," Gregory said, sounding more than a little annoyed. "I was on my way back from lunch, slipped on a slick patch. Went down like a load of bricks. Like a stupid twat, I stuck my arm out to catch myself instead of tucking like I should have. Ended up at A&E getting x-rays and being sent home in a sling."

"It must not have been terribly serious if they didn't put it in a cast."

"No, but they made me take that bloody crap for the pain that gives me horrible headaches."

Mycroft sighed. "Oh, dear. Oxycodone. It makes you horribly cranky, as well. I trust you won't be taking a second dose."

"I can't get my bloody trousers fastened again after using the loo, Mycroft, of course I'm bloody cranky. Have you ever tried fastening your trousers with your right arm in a sling?"

"On more than one occasion, I assure you." Gregory was sounding more and more irritable with every passing moment. "Should I come home?"

"What, to help me fasten my trousers?" Gregory growled.

"Or to get you out of them, whichever you'd prefer," Mycroft offered.

Gregory groaned. "If I didn't feel like my arm was about to fall off, I'd take you up on that." 

"You'll no doubt require other assistance for the next few weeks, as well."

"Don't remind me."

"I could hire a—"

"Don't even. You hire a bloody nurse and you'll be sleeping on the li-lo for a week."

"We don't have a li-lo, Gregory."

Mycroft could hear Gregory's teeth grinding. "I'll buy one and put you on it."

"That's a rather extreme reaction to an offer of assistance."

"Li-lo, Mycroft."

"Apologies, my dear. Still, I could return home in an hour or so and see to your comfort. If you won't let me hire in help, at least let me assist you when I'm able."

There was a half-hearted grumble from the other end of the line. "Well, yeah, okay. I kind of do need some... help," Gregory admitted. It sounded like he was forcing the words out. "Just... just come home, My, before I get entirely ridiculous on this bloody pill. I hate what this stuff does to me."

"I'll be there within two hours. Will that be acceptable?"

"Only if you bring beer."

"You can't have alcohol while you're on that."

Gregory made a terribly disgruntled sound. "Fuck. Chocolate ice-cream, then. I don't care. Something. I'm miserable." He paused for a moment, clearly not quite finished. "Fucking arm hurts," he whined.

"I'll be home soon," Mycroft murmured, attempting to be reassuring. "If you're half-undressed anyway, draw yourself a hot bath and I'll help you out of it when I get there." He could hand the Balkan monitoring off to one of his aides, with strict instructions to contact him should anything change in a particular direction. Nothing else about the situation required his personal attention, but Gregory obviously did.

Just over half an hour later, Mycroft entered their flat, fairly certain he'd find Gregory in the tub of their en-suite. "How are you doing, Gregory?" he called, leaving his umbrella and briefcase at the door. A barely-audible mumble answered him. He entered the bedroom and went through to the en-suite to find Gregory sitting in the tub, looking utterly dejected and in pain.

Gregory turned his face up to him. "It's a horrible thing, My, not even being able to get into your own trousers."

"It sounded like you got into them well enough, you just couldn't get them closed again."

"Never realized how many things take two hands."

"You have a headache." Gregory's eyes and shoulders were tight despite the bath, and he'd kept the lights low. 

Gregory nodded. "Yeah." More than anything, he sounded exhausted by the pain. His eyes slid closed and his head dropped back to rest on the edge of the porcelain basin. "God, I hate this," he whispered. "I feel so fucking helpless."

"You aren't helpless, Gregory, merely temporarily inconvenienced."

Gregory opened his eyes and looked at him without moving his head. "I'm not sure I can haul myself out of this tub, My. I can hardly move my arm without it feeling like it's about to explode. I'm not sure what's worse, my arm or my head."

"I'll help you." Mycroft crouched by the side of the tub.

"Yeah, now. But what happens when I'm alone?" Mycroft tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. "No bloody nurses," Gregory grumbled.

"Or you could attempt to do all this alone while I'm at work. I can do a certain amount of it from home, but by no means all of it. Too much of a security risk." He smirked.

Gregory sighed and nodded, carefully. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You're right. I just... I don't want anyone to see me like this."

"Gregory," Mycroft said as he slid an arm around Gregory's back, preparing to help him out of the tub, "you've been in hospital before, hurt far worse than this."

Gregory groaned and clutched his right arm tightly to his chest, trying not to move it. "That was twice, My, in the line of duty, in all the years I've been at the Met. This was just _stupid_. I should have been watching where I put my feet, for Christ's sake."

Mycroft rose, cautious, hoisting Gregory to his feet. His clothing got wet, but it didn't really bother him that much. Gregory was considerably more important. "The why of it doesn't matter, you know. You're hurt and you need assistance." Once Gregory was stable on his feet – the medication seemed to be affecting his balance as well as his head – Mycroft tugged a towel from the rack and rubbed the water from Gregory's skin. His lover stood there, huddled miserably around his broken arm. "I can arrange for it, and you'll feel better knowing that you'll be able to manage during the day. How long are you off work?"

"About a week," Gregory answered, "but I'll be on desk duty until I can reliably use my arm again. Can't even bloody type. I'll have to fill out the reports one-handed, or get someone else to do them. It'll be all meetings, My. Every damned day, all day. You know how I hate that." 

Mycroft dropped the towel on the floor and took Gregory into his arms, careful of his broken limb. "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do about that bit. I can, however, put you to bed and try to make you feel a little better."

"It's hard even to be touched right now, My. Everything hurts." The way Gregory burrowed into Mycroft's arms gave lie to some of the statement, though he was quite certain Gregory wouldn't allow anyone else's touch right now.

"I know," Mycroft said, his voice gentle as he brought Gregory into the bedroom and helped him lie down. "I'll be right back." Gregory tugged the covers up around himself with his good arm, and Mycroft went back to drain the tub before he returned to the bedroom. "I can join you for a few hours, if you like."

Gregory nodded. "Yeah, I think I would."

Mycroft stripped then, quickly and efficiently, and got into bed with his lover, wrapping himself carefully about the man's body to keep him warm and comfortable. He pressed a kiss to the nape of Gregory's neck and held him close. "Try to sleep, love. I know you hurt right now but, if you can rest, it will help."

"I'll try," Gregory murmured, his body shifting as he tried to find a comfortable position. Finally, he settled on his back, his broken arm resting on his chest with Mycroft tucked against his side to support it. Mycroft held him as he slipped uncomfortably into sleep.

~~end~~


End file.
